


Tumblr Drabbles and Ficlets!

by Neutralchaos



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Ace!Jack, Crack, Ficlet, Fluffy, Language, M/M, just drabbles, thank you Tumblr!, there is nothing connecting any of these
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-18 21:35:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 6,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7331470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neutralchaos/pseuds/Neutralchaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>various little ficlets/ drabbles based off of posts on tumblr ^^</p><p>Chapter 11- shrinkyclinks + clean it yourself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I don't wanna get up.(brock/jack)

**Author's Note:**

> the ringtone is "pour some sugar on me" By Def Leppard.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based off of this post ^^  
> http://neutralchaos915.tumblr.com/post/146578715963/screams-incoherently

>> _ Pour some sugar on me _

_ Ooh, in the name of love _

_ Pour some sugar on me _

_ C'mon, fire me up _

_ Pour your sugar on me _

_ Oh, I can't get enough _

_ I'm hot, sticky sweet _

_ From my head to my feet, yeah _ <<

 

“Hnng…” Brock scrunched his face up and buried it a bit more into the pillow beneath him. Beside him he could hear Jack groan and shift, before a gruff growl of:

“You gonna answer that?” 

Brock shoved the pillow over his head, before mumbling, “it’s our fucking weekend off.They can damn well deal for once, because there is now way in hell I’m getting up right now.” 

>> _ Pour some sugar on me _

_ Ooh, in the name of love _

_ Pour some sugar on me _

_ C'mon, fire me up _

_ Pour your sugar on me _

_ Oh, I can't get enough _

_ I'm hot, sticky sweet _

_ From my head to my feet, yeah _ <<

“They’re not gonna stop.”

“Oh for fucks sake!” Brock grumbled as he threw the covers off of himself, reached for the flat object that was blaring at him and made him get out of the cozy embrace of his bed ( and Jack too, of course.). Picking it up, he took one look at the caller ( Pierce, of fucking course. Why couldn’t they get ONE fucking weekend to themselves for once?) and hit the green icon to answer the damn call.

“Rumlow.”

There was a pause for a bit, as Brock listened to what the person on the other end had to say, before he groaned and quickly said, “ Hang on sir… The connection is breaking up. I’m having a real hard time hearing right n-”(which was laughable in and of itself, as that was the S.H.I.E.L.D. issued phone)  before he moved the phone away from ear. Jack kept one eye open, watching as Brock reeled his arm back as far as it would go, and threw the phone down onto floor. There was a cracking sound, as the screen broke before Brock grabbed one of the plugs they kept in the nightstand drawer and repeatedly brought it down on to the offending device. 

 

After a couple minutes of this, Brock lays back down with a satisfied sigh.Jack, who has been chuckling ever since Brock feigned a connection failure, reaches over and wraps Brock up into his big arms, lulling them both back to sleep. Jack knows ( and so does Brock more than likely) that there will hell to pay for that little stunt but at the moment, it seems like a very small price to pay.

  
  



	2. choking hazards (Jack and Brock)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> based off of this post :http://neutralchaos915.tumblr.com/post/146071699983/usopp-replied-to-your-post-this-is-literally-the

             After completely wrecking the all the other players, Jack sits back, and rolls his shoulders, trying to move the muscles that seized up while he was playing. When he notices that he’s received a message from one of the other players in the match he was just in.

Opening up the menu on his screen, he scrolls over to his messages box and opens the up the message from ‘xCrossbones69x’. It simply reads:

“plz suck my dick”.

Now normally Jack couldn’t be bothered to reply to something like this, shit talking sore losers isn’t normally his thing but he’s pretty sure he recognises the screen name from the last time he went over to Brock’s house. Jack smirks a little and composes a new message to reply back. Thinking on it for a moment, he decides on what he’s going to say and then starts moving the cursor over the on screen keyboard. the reply back is simple and reads:

 ‘NO. Thanks for the offer and I’ll admit, for a moment I was tempted because you asked so nicely(it’s not often that anyone remembers their manners anymore) But honestly I just don’t feel like it.’

And after a few minutes of contemplation he titles it as ‘small things are choking hazards’


	3. post-it notes (Steve/Bucky)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> inspired by this post here -http://garotteandgoodnight.tumblr.com/post/146655823723/my-wayward-son-carry-on-again-based-of-this

 

          It’s starts off with Buck’s nightmare’s. Sometimes he wakes up with no memory of where he is and panics. For the first little while Steve tries to just talk him down, but finds that it doesn’t always work. So one day, while waiting for Fury he spots the little post-it notes sitting on the desk and a plan forms. 

He starts by putting them on the metal arm (Steve finds that they stick onto it better), with little messages of, ‘ you’re safe here’ and ‘ your name is Bucky’. Sometimes he’d sign them with a little S.G.R. until Bucky would cross it out and write ‘punk’ instead.  Steve doesn’t mind ( actually he loves it, but shhh don’t tell Bucky). Bucky takes the notes that Steve leaves on his arm and starts leaving them all over the apartment. Sometimes in the strangest places. Like the freezer or behind the toilet (Steve still doesn’t understand that one). But overall Bucky doesn’t seem to mind the notes at all. In fact he always look do damn happy every time he finds one (He honestly finds it the entire thing adorable and just so... Steve.) that Steve makes sure to leave him at least one, everyday.

One day, Steve is making sure that all of equipment is ready to go before a mission, when he spots a bright pink square on one corner of the shield. It says ‘ Your name is Steve’ and Steve chuckles a bit, before he spies a couple of yellow spots on the other sides. With a confused look he tilts the shield at bit more towards himself and reads, ‘ why did I not think to shoot your legs?’ and ‘why does no one think to shoot your legs when you hide behind this?’.  And honestly... Steve has no idea what to make of this new development. 


	4. Shotgun( Sam and Bucky crack)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This post here: http://neutralchaos915.tumblr.com/post/146801076458/i-will-not-be-caged-feredir-free-them-i

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope that I did this justice. ....

          “Shotgun!” Sam said as he looked at the beat up, blue bug, that Steve had managed to acquire. And seriously… could he have stolen a smaller car? Were there no smart cars available? You know; the really little ones. Sam’s thoughts must have been written all over his face because, Steve sighed and rolled his eyes fondly, before pulling a cap on over his ridiculously blonde hair and walking over to the gas station to grab some snacks for the drive.

Sam looked over at the former Winter Soldier, who had been just standing there, (which was really creepy, if Sam was being honest with himself), only instead of giving everyone and everything a blank look, he looking over at Sam with puzzled expression on his face. Once he noticed Sam looking over at him, he moved a little bit closer, and asked, “Is there a threat nearby?”

It was Sam’s turn to look confused as all hell.  _ What?  _

“What,” he said out loud, “are. you. talking. about.” making sure to keep eye contact with the other man. Partially to make sure that he had been heard and mostly because despite what Steve may think about his friend (and really, the man was a giant puppy sometimes, with how easily he trusted Barnes) he really did not feel comfortable turning his back on the guy that had tried to kill… twice now. 

“You. said. Shotgun.” Barnes said just as slowly, raising his eyebrow a bit.  And oh. Well, Sam was actually genuinely stumped on how to proceed now. He forgot that Barnes was like Steve. They both had a lot of catching up to do, especially with modern terms. 

“...right. Well, when someone says shotgun, generally, they’re calling dibs on sitting in the front seat.” Sam explains patiently. Barnes for his part, narrows his eyes a little, looks at the car, and then back at Sam. He walks around Sam towards the car, looks at the backseat, looks down at himself, back to the backseat, and finally he looks back at Sam. Both of Barnes’s eyebrows are scrunched together a bit and the expression on his face seems to convey;  _ Really? How the hell am I gonna fit?  _  Sam looks right back at him, his eyebrow raised and a smirk on his face.

Of course, Steve chooses this moment to come back, carrying about six large bags of various junk food. Sam chooses to break off the staring contest him and Barnes were having (which by the way, the dude is totally cheating somehow, because Sam is positive he has never seen Barnes blink. Ever.)  and walk towards the car. He waits until Steve manages to squeeze into the driver side ( The seat is pushed back as far as he can get it, and even then it’s still a really tight fit.) before he looks over at Barnes and gestures to the back seat in a clear ‘after you’ hand movement. For a moment, Sam believes that the Winter Soldier is going to make an appearance and fight him for some leg room, but then…

“..Fine.” Barnes says with a bit of a huff of breath toward the end. He steps forward and goes to pull the seat forward to climb in before straightening back up when it doesn’t move. He narrows his and looks over at Sam who standing there with his lips pressed together in a thin line to prevent himself from laughing, because come on! He’s watching the The Winter Soldier be defeated by upholstery. Steve, of course, chooses this moment to look over to see what the holdup is and gives them his patented ‘Captain America does not approve’ look (for the life of him, Sam cannot figure out why he just doesn’t use that on every enemy he comes across. Instant win.) So Sam bends down and pulls the little lever on the front of the passenger side seat, and steps back as it springs forward to allow access into the back of the car.  For his part, Barnes doesn’t even try to do anything besides ( and seriously, now the asshole is just showing off becuase NO ONE has ever been able climb into the back of one of these and not look like an idiot.) climb in with all the grace of a fucking cat, and plop his ass down, looking just a little smug.

 

Sam waits until Steve has started the car up and they’re well on their way before he subtly leans his seat back a little too far.


	5. “That was a perfect example of how not to do things.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was a Prompt from the amazing Mollynoble , who asked for  
> 15\. “That was a perfect example of how not to do things.” for hydra husbands.

_ “Have you ever had beer cake?” Jack asked looking over Brock with a questioning look on his face.  _

_ “What the fuck is beer cake? That’s a thing?” he replied, “like is it made from actual beer? Who fucks up perfectly good beer by putting into cake?” _

 

_ Jack just smiles, and says that when it’s made properly it’s fucking delicious and it’s been forever since he’s had any. _

 

So here was Brock four months later, sitting on the counter in the kitchen of (their) house, laptop open, looking up recipes for beer bake of all things.Ever since Jack had brought it up, Brock had filed the information away and decided that he would make it for their one year wedding anniversary (actually he was going to buy it but the only place he would be able to get from would be a bakery in fucking Brooklyn and there was no way he was going all the way down there.)Jack had gone out for a few hours, after Brock had practically shoved him out the door, down to that bar where all his biker friends hang out. Leaving Brock to try and  _ bake _ . It wasn’t that he couldn’t cook. He could. It was just that repertoire for things he made were based more on what kind of meat, he smother in oregano, chili’s, thyme, basil, rosemary- Spaghetti. He could make spaghetti. Occasionally, Jack would let him near the barbeque, to help keep an eye on whatever the bigger man was grilling. But baking… that honestly was something that Brock had never thought about doing.  

 

The first recipe that he clicked on had looked (and sounded) fucking delicious, despite his reservations on the entire thing,  until he had actually started to try and make the damn thing. 

_ What the hell? How the fuck do you sift flour? What the fuck is sifting anyways?” _

So he scrapped the entire thing and went back to searching for an easier recipe. After a few more minute of searching, he clicked on a recipe that was advertised as ‘easy and delicious’. Opening it up, he clenched his hand into a fist and brought it towards himself, letting himself have moment of small victory. 

_ Cake mix? Check. Pudding mix? Check. No fucking sifting required? Check. _

Jumping down off the counter, he strolled over to the walk-in pantry, that Jack had built out of the breakfast nook that had been there originally, because, honestly, what the hell were they going to do with a fucking breakfast nook? (actually, when Jack had first started to build the pantry, he had asked why they needed one those too. And Jack had just patiently said, that just because Brock was a fucking disaster in the kitchen, that didn’t mean everybody else was.) Walking in, he found the two boxes he needed and returned over the island where the rest of the bowls that remained after his first attempt, lay waiting.

 

Cracking his neck, he started to read the damn text in front of him and-  _ What the fuck is a bundt pan?  _ Looking that up,  _ thank fuck for google,  _ he pulled that out and sprayed it down with ½ a can of cooking spray and dumped a handful of flour onto the bottom the pan. Step one done, he turned the oven on ( the recipe said 350, so Brock turned the dial to  _ around _ that number) and moved on. Dumping the cake mix, pudding mix, vegetable oil, and eggs all into one bowl, he went to double check the amount of beer to use.  _  One cup? What kind of bullshit is that? How the fuck are you supposed to taste the beer if that’s all you’re puttin’ in?  _ Scrunching his nose a bit, he cracked open the bottle of beer that he had set aside, and poured the entire thing into the bowl, making sure to shake out the last dredges that were normally left inside before he picked up the spoon and started to stir it all together.

Since the oven wasn’t hot enough yet, yes he(sorta) knew how to work the oven, fuck you very much Jack, he decided to let the batter sit, while he wandered into the living room with the computer in his hands. Placing it down onto the desk that sat in the corner, Brock booted up his game and entered into a few online matches.

 

A little while later, Brock’s phone chirped at him, pulling him out of the gaming fuge that he allowed himself to fall into. Logging out of the server, he stretched his arms over his head, going until he heard the ‘pop’ of his shoulder before he lazily reached over and swiped in his password, to see… the text that Jack had sent him. 

The text telling him he was on his way home. 

Right now. 

_ FUCK _

Brock ran to the kitchen, poured the bowl out into the pan and tossed it into oven. He was just about to start grabbing all of the dirty dishes to throw into the sink, when he realized that there was no way that the cake would be done in time cooking at it’s current temperature. Which wouldn’t do AT ALL. The whole reason he kicked Jack out of the house was to get this ready and surprise him. So he jacked the dial up on the oven, so it would cook faster.

 

Roughly 15 minutes later, he heard Jack’s bike pulling up onto the sad excuse of a driveway that they had ( it was a dirt path, no matter what Jack said.) Brock peered into the oven taking a look at the fucking cake and quickly he deemed it finished. Pulling it out,he saw that it had a wonderful golden colour, and was only a little burnt at the edges, the icing would cover that up anyways. So big deal there. Knowing that it was going to take Jack another little while to make his way in, (Jack  _ Always _ tucked that bike in and took a walk around the house every time he came back home. Side effect of their  _ retirement _ .) Brock used the time to crack open the lid on the icing container and quickly started to slather the sugary substance all over the cake. 

 

By the time Jack made his way inside, the cake actually… well looked like a cake and Brock had managed to spray enough air freshener around to cover up the smell of baked goods. Jack kicked his boots off by the door and started to look around for his husband. Finding Brock in the kitchen, Jack strode over, swept him into his arms and started to try and devour what little bit of soul Brock had left through his mouth. 

 

Brock let him for a little while, (although he fucking hated it when Jack held him like this. He was already very aware of size difference and this made him feel even smaller) before leaning his head back, smiling and whispering- (no, he was not out of breath from a kiss.)

“Hey,there Jack-ass.”

Jack grinned, “Hey, yourself, Princess. Miss me?” 

“Why, you go somewhere?” Brock smirked as he pulled away entirely. Jack narrowed his eyes a little, and took a couple steps forward, obviously looking to cage Brock against the counter, so he continue eating him alive. Which, under normal circumstances, Brock would be climbing all over that, except…

“Made you something!” He blurted out excitedly before Jack could get any further, looking like a little kid at christmas. For his part, Jack stopped dead still at Brock’s outburst, his eyebrows scrunched together, as regarded Brock with just a little bit wariness.

“You. made. Me. something?” Jack said slowly, confusion evident in his voice. 

Brock quickly, turned around, grabbed the cake from where he had hidden it in the fridge and plopped it onto the counter by Jack’s hand. 

“You mentioned awhile ago, that you uh… hadn’t had it in a long time, so I figured it might be a nice surprise.” Brock trailed off towards the end with a shrug and went to go and grab a knife. Turning back around, Brock took in the look on Jack’s face and smirked.

“What? Oh, you thought I couldn’t bake worth shit, didn’t you? Well fuck you. This shit turned out great.” He said as he started to cut into the cake. Jack sighed, and had to admit that it did look delicious until…

“I’m pretty sure that cake is not supposed to be drinkable.” he said, poking at the pile of goop that adorned the kitchen counter. “How the fuck did you manage to make cake into a liquid?” he asked, looking at the crestfallen look on Brock’s face. So, Brock(begrudgingly and after a lot more prodding) walked him through the entire thing. By the end of it, Jack was laughing, while making a mental to never, ever leave Brock unattended in the kitchen ever again.

“Well, look at it this way, Darling,” He chuckled, “ At least you now have a perfect example of how  _ not  _ to do things.” 


	6. Sam/steve/bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They last a good 10 minutes before they break down and start to try and take the remote away from Steve. Who plays a game of keep away for a little bit before deciding that nope, he’s done, and shoves the remote down the front of his pants

It starts like this. They're all crushed together on a couch. It doesn't matter how big the couch is, they are all pretty big guys, most furniture is too small for them to cuddle and sprawl out on. Sam is sitting left side, Bucky on the right because he knows how cold that arm can get and, because Steve is right where he needs to be, cuddled up between them as they try to find something decent to watch. Which means that Sam and Bucky are tussling for the remote and bickering at each other, while Steve sits in middle getting jostled around. Until… well until he gets bent nearly in half as their wrestling and arguing becomes more and more hands on and he snaps a little bit. 

Well, not so much as snaps, as quickly reaches up and grabs the remote away from both of them because he _ done _ with the fighting and switches the channel to some stupid rom com that he knows they both dislike. He doesn’t really enjoy them that much either, but that’s beside the point. Where he doesn’t mind them both Sam and Bucky detest them. He’s pretty sure that he’s heard Bucky say that they’re right up there with losing his arm.

They last a good 10 minutes before they break down and start to try and take the remote away from Steve. Who plays a game of keep away for a little bit before deciding that nope, he’s done, and shoves the remote down the front of his pants. 

Which, is either the best idea he’s ever had or the worst, because both Sam and Bucky’s eyes instantly flick downwards for a few seconds before they look back up at each other and do that silent communication thing that they only have the ability to do when ever it’s anything to do with Steve. Looking between the two of them Steve can pinpoint the exact moment he realises how fucked he’s about to be. It’s when they both look back down at him and both of them have absolutely filthy smirks on their faces.


	7. Prompt- "your eyes are red, were you crying?" Brock/Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> asked for by [the lovely Trebeka](trebeka.tumblr.com) on tumblr :)

It's the afterwards part that everyone always skips over. After the scene is done, after the condoms are full and both parties have collapsed down onto the nearest surface. After the fade to black as they catch their breath. No one ever talk about what to do after. So, needless to say that Jack is thrown a bit off his game when he removes the blindfold from Brooks eyes and see's his normally bright hazel eyes, swollen and puffy. He can't help the words that fall from his mouth, really he can't. 

 

“Your eyes are red… Were you crying?” The way Brock doesn't say anything but turns away from him, speaks volumes and Jack doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know how to fix this, partially because he's sure that Brock won't let him. His suspicions are confirmed when he goes to try and hold Brock close, Brock rolls away from him, yanks his pants back on and walks toward the bedroom door, not even pausing as he calls over his shoulder,

 

“I'm grabbing a beer, you gonna lay there all night or what?”


	8. Prompt-"shhh, they'll hear us" Jack/Brock

Brock peeked through the door of the bar he'd been sent to, wondering for a few moments if he was even in the right place, as he scanned what could generously be called the crowd and settled on a broad back he'd recognise anywhere, clad in a trench coat and hunched over the bar. Swallowing down his excitement, Brock wandered over and settled down beside him.

 

"Can I buy you a drink?" 

 

Jack - and holy fuck, did he look amazing when he wasn't all neat as a pin - turned and gave Brock a look of almost honest surprise. Dammit, Brock always forgot how good he could be at this.  
"Why would I want a drink from you?"

 

Fuck, you could drown in that accent. Brock shifted in place -not squirmed for fucks sakes, real men don't fucking squirm- with Jack’s one hundred percent attention.

 

"Make it worth your while. Promise." 

 

That had come out a lot less confidently than he wanted. Jack was pretty obviously in charge this time, and Brock was the one chasing him. Of course, he knew Jack would fucking give in, but, holy crap, he was all for this hard-to-get thing.

 

Jack looked him up and down, as though he could see through his clothes, and then, after a pause, nodded.

 

"Sure, why the fuck not. You can buy me a drink."

 

***

 

Brock moaned lowly as he was pushed against the brick wall in the alley beside the bar. Jack had him trapped against it, his whole weight keeping him in place. 

 

"Ready to fucking make it worth my while?" Jack growled low in his ear. He smelled of smoke and whiskey and oil and just fucking pure Jack, and Brock's head was already swimming when he nodded eagerly.

 

"Good," Jack purred. "You know what I want?" He stroked a finger along the collar of Brock's shirt.

 

"Nope, you gonna tell me?" Brock gasped. He honestly couldn't have thought about it, since all the fucking blood in his body decided to run straight down into his dick.

 

"I want you to get on your fucking knees and suck my cock," Jack whispered, blowing away the hair over Brock’s ear. It took Brock a few moments to comprehend the words, too busy enjoying Jack’s voice to really pay attention. When he did, though, he dropped straight to his knees and started fumbling with Jack's belt. Jack, however remained passive, bracing himself against the wall in front of him so that his open coat practically hid Brock from any prying eyes that might be lurking around.

 

There was something absolutely fucking amazing about Jack managing to somehow be a fucking gentleman right after demanding a blowjob.

 

Brock made a little cry of triumph when he finally managed to free Jack's cock from his pants - no underwear, how the fuck did he get this fucking lucky? - and took a moment to appreciate the whole picture of this. Jack could so easily be a stranger, rough and uncaring and just a quick fuck in an alleyway.

 

Roleplay was fun. They were definitely doing it more often.

 

Brock leaned forward and mouthed along Jack's cock, pressing wet kisses all along the underside, sucking the head in when he got there. No point in teasing, this was about getting off, quick and anonymous. Also Jack was not in the fucking mood for teasing, if the way he'd dropped one hand to grip Brock's hair meant anything. He did even say a word as he rocked his hips forward, forcing Brock to take more in, but it didn't matter, because this was exactly what he wanted and it was so fucking good. 

 

"Good little cocksucker," Jack murmured, breathless and low and with just the faintest hint of affection.

 

Brock sucked harder,unnecessarily happy for the praise and wanting more of it. He got it in the form of Jack moaning a bit louder and him rocking his hips into him, moving on to fucking his mouth slowly but steadily until all Brock could do was let his jaw go slack and breathe between thrusts.

 

Jack gripped Brock's hair as he came down his throat, tugging hard enough to make his eyes water. A bang from the other end of alley startled both men into complete alertness, Jack pulled Brock back up by hooking his arms underneath his armpits, and ducking behind a nearby dumpster.

“Shhh, they’ll hear us.” Jack whispered as Brock let out a frustrated groan his own dick still hard enough to hammer fucking nails. He was going to fucking kill whoever the fuck couldn’t wait 2 more fucking minutes, so Brock could finish. Jack’s hand came up and covered Brock’s mouth completely. Brows furrowing with confusion, Brock glared up him for a moment before he realised why Jack had shushed him initially. Jack’s hand was buried in his pants and stroking Brock quickly. Fuck. This man was going to be the death of Brock and Brock was very okay with that.


	9. Awkward conversations- Jack/Brock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if Jack was ace? What if he put off telling his very allo boyfriend? TA DA!

  
  


“I thought you just wanted to take things slowly Jack! But what what you meant to say was… you don't love me? Because that's a dick move Jack. I mean we've been dating for how long now and you're just now telling me that-”

  


“that's not what I'm saying Brock, I'm saying that I do not want to have sex. Ever. At all.” Jack says for what feels like the hundredth time. He's knows that it's a hard concept for Brock to grasp. And as much of an asshole that he might be, he's not acting this way to be a dick. He genuinely does not understand what Jack has been trying to tell him for the last hour. 

  


“you don't want to put your dick in me? Why?  Everyone wants to put their dick in me, Jack. I mean… my ass is fantastic. I'd fuck myself if I could.” Goddammit, Brock is pouting. And he looks ridiculous when he does it, so Jack is now trying not laugh during this very serious conversation  that they were in having. In the locker room. In front of the entire team. Because Brock has no concept what a fucking private conversation means. 

  


“I don't want to put my dick anyone, Brock. Do you know what I want?” he pauses here to make sure Brock is still listening. He is. “ I want a good steak, some half decent whiskey, comfortable clothes, shitty movie to watch and some cuddles on the couch. That's it.”

  


Brock narrows his eyes, thinking for a few moments and Jack thinks  finally, it's finally sinking in, When… “what about after the movie? What happens then?”

  


“depending on the time we go to bed? Get some sleep?” 

  


“.... like...without jerking off first? How do you sleep without busting your nut?” Brock asks disbelieving.

  


“I just close my eyes. Find a comfortable position and sleep.”

  


"Your balls must be so blue they voted for Clinton. What the shit?"

  


"They... really aren't. My balls are fine. " Jack really wants this conversation to be done. Telling his boyfriend that he's asexual was turning put to be much more difficult than he had planned. It does not help that the he can hear Mercer snickering behind him and Murphy is making the little hurt noises he makes when he's trying so hard to not laugh. He's not sure they're laughing at his suffering or Brock’s ignorance but either way it's annoying. So he decides to table this conversation for now. Brock’s not stupid, far from it. Jack figures in a few days that he'll get it, stop thinking with his dick, apologize and they'll figure something out together. 

  


Jack was wrong. He was so very wrong. He completely underestimated how in love Brock is with his dick. The seventy-two dick pics in his phone confirmed that. He's perfectly justified a few days later when he stalks into the debriefing room and shoves a beautifully wrapped package into Brock’s hands before taking a seat. There's a tag attached that Brock ignores in favour of tearing open the gift to see what's inside. A nondescript box falls out with a gentle thud and Brock goes to tear that open as well. Everyone in the room falls silent when a large dildo falls out. After a few moments of doing nothing but staring at it, Brock grabs the tag attached to the gift and reads it.

deal with it yourself- Jack. 

  
  



	10. Santa Games-hydra husbands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mentions Htp like things in this one. No actual Trash Party things actually happen, They're just hinted at.

  
"You're shitting me." Jack said looking back at Brock with a small grin, certain that any minute Brock would slap him on the back while laughing and in between gasps for breath would yell 'you should see your face'. His CO on the other hand, did none of that. In fact he scowled harder, “it's the only way the entire team can infiltrate and take out the target. We have to blend in and-” he paused, wrinkling his nose,  _ which stop it. It should not be cute and he will murder you for thinking that, Jack,  _ and gestures to the large box sitting on the briefing room table, “this is the only way to do it, without everyone getting suspicious.” 

 

“it's not real fur on the trim, right? Because if it is…” Jack sighed before leveling a glare over in Murphy’s direction. Although… why he even bothered was beyond him because Brock whirled on him and snapped, “real fur? What the actual fuck? You think we got that kind of budget? Of fucking course it's not real fur. It's an itchy as all fuck, polyester fake shit that everyone forced into this hell costume hates.” he ended his tirade with a sneer on his before reaching into the box, grabbing a fistful of bright red fleece and yelling “Suit up! We leave at oh three hundred! That gives you shits thirty minutes to put this crap on!” and stomping out of the room.

 

Twenty-seven minutes later the entire strike team was on the landing pad, each of them looking various degrees of uncomfortable. Because standing there, still as a statue, dressed in his own ahem, disguise. Jack raised his eyebrow and looked over to Brock,  silently asking  _ what the fuck?  _

 

“The asset is going to be dropped directly into the building. He's going secure and distract the target, giving us more time to find our positions and move in.”  The asset despite staying perfectly still, looked like he wanted to shift around. He didn’t, he was better trained than that, but Jack couldn’t help but wonder what had him so uncomfortable. His question was answered a few moments later when Brock ordered the asset into the helicopter and right there, in the middle of the too small shorts was a fluffy tail, that Jack was pretty sure wasn’t a part of the shorts themselves. 

 

One agonizingly long and bumpy ride later, the asset was dropped off and the team was divided up into teams. Brock and Jack of course were paired up together.  _ Subtle Brock. Are you sure you don’t want to just invite everyone to the wedding? Maybe get ‘I’m with…’ matching shirts? _ Currently they both were slowly making their way towards the building, when Jack muted his com on his end and asked, “who the fuck did you piss off now?” Brock looked up at him, feigning confusion on his face for a few seconds before rolling his eyes, muting his own com and, “I may have scattered photos of Hill, dressed like a sexy Mrs.Claus all the Triskelion.. “he muttered. Jack sighed because of fucking course Brock would go and piss off Maria Hill. 

 

“Really, Brock?” He sighed, “Hill? You couldn’t have made pictures of Fury in a tutu or told Pierce to fuck off? You had to go and piss off Maria I can make your life living hell Hill? What the fuck? We have to suffer in hundred degree weather because your inner 5 year old came out to play?” if Jack didn't know any better he would assume that Brock might have been ashamed of his actions or feel bad that they all were suffering but… he knew better. And the smirk on his CO’s face confirmed it.

 

“if it makes you feel any better, I got permission to play with the asset later.” it… sort of did actually. It was nice to know that he wasn't suffering for nothing. Figuring they were done, Jack went to unmute his comms and as he did Brock of course chose to growl, “we could always sneak out instead and I'll let you give me a blowjob.” which, well… it would've have been nice if he said it quietly enough that the rest of the fucking team didn't hear him but the universe hates Jack. Because while Jack couldn't care if anyone knew how much he loved his tiny, angry, fragile egotistical peacock, said peacock was not ready to be outed. He could tell the moment Brock realized what he had done, the look of horror that crossed his face was, without a doubt, because Jack was an asshole, priceless.  

  
Their attention however, was diverted a moment later when there was a rough, “Target is secured” and Brock quickly gave the signal for everyone to move out. Honestly, he couldn’t blame people for more than a little startled as 15 santas suddenly pulled out guns from their sacks and started to move in formation towards the hotel. Of course that had nothing on the sight of one Very Beefy Reindeer, complete with a harness with tiny jingly bells on it, stalking out the front doors with an unconscious plump businessman hoisted over his shoulder.  


	11. Clean it yourself- Stucky.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> p>I saw a [**thing**](http://neutralchaos1.tumblr.com/post/162126236788/jumpingjacktrash-just-shower-thoughts-dear) and while I was going to make this HH I thought it suited a pre-serum Steve and Ws! Bucky better =)

So here’s the thing, Bucky really isn’t sure if Steve knows just how _filthy_ the top of his fridge is. No seriously, it’s bad. The fridge itself is white all over except for the top. Which is… an amazingly disgusting mixture of grey/brown/… green? Bucky is pretty sure that there really isn’t a colour gross enough to properly describe what he’s seeing. It wouldn’t be so bad if it looked like it kept getting _worse_ every time he was over - which is getting to be quite often if he’s being honest - and if he didn’t have to look at it everytime he went to grab beers for them (which is all the fucking time because Steve is such lazy little shit whenever he can get away with it). But he knows that if he says anything Steve will… well he’s not sure what Steve will do exactly but he knows it won’t be pretty. So just before he leaves (yes he knows how fucking cowardly it is but come on! He knows when it’s better to run) he writes out a quick note and sticks on the fridge.

_Babe,_  
The top of the fridge is really gross. Just saying. 

When Steve says nothing for a couple of days, Bucky assumes that everything is okay and takes him up on the offer to back over that weekend. Except when he goes to grab the beer’s before the game starts he sees that the top of the fridge is still disgusting and that the note is still on the fridge. Only… when he looks a little closer, he sees that it’s not his writing on the note.

_Doll,_  
Cleaning stuff is under the sink. Do it yourself you fucking giant. 

**Author's Note:**

> come follow me over on [Tumblr!!](http://neutralchaos1.tumblr.com)


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